


My Life Among The Goblins

by Ryan Smith (rasmith121)



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Leadership, Monsters, That goblin tribe you heroes just cleared out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 15:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18780664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rasmith121/pseuds/Ryan%20Smith
Summary: 'Greenskins,' they call us. They say it under their breath, like we're demons they fear summoning by accident. Do you know how many goblins die in a raid on a human village? About. . . forty percent of the tribe. Now imagine the sort of hunger, the desperation, that would be required to drive your people to do something where they knew, at best, about half of them get out alive with enough food and coin to survive another month.





	1. The Ruins of Yarknan

The jungle West of the Misericadi mountains is not vast, nor insurmountable. It is not even particularly dangerous. Unlike Zaire half a world away it lacks the many large predators and wild magic that can cut a brave soul’s time on this plane short. Unfortunately for any would-be brave souls, it also lacks most of the tasks more populated areas have that people are willing to pay said brave souls to risk their lives in pursuit of.

A Dwarven man entered the Dancing Hydra, a tavern near the docks of the port town of Bunula. He had a bald head and a thick beard bound with copper cinches. A keen eye would notice that the brief glints and flashes from his ruddy skin were not reflections of light off a myriad of piercings, no, they were small, shiny scales catching the light of a nearby lantern and occasionally short sparks of static that crawled across his skin. The head of a warhammer poked over one shoulder. He looked around and spotted a table around which sat three sundry mortals. His fellow brave souls.

The largest towered head and shoulders over everyone else in the room, though only his companions knew that. His light brown hair and beard could only be described as ‘furry’ and his gray skin was somewhat uncommon. Between that, his size, and the weathered tree branch that he used as a walking staff he would have been conspicuous. Most Firbolgs are whilst outside their hidden glades, which was why he hid himself with magic to appear as an ordinary Human.

The next largest was an ordinary Human, shrouded not in magic but in metal links. A set of dice carved from bone sat on the table in front of him, forgotten. A greatsword rested in its sheath on the back of his chainmail, its hilt poking over his shoulder ready to be drawn.

The last was a Gnomish woman clad in black leather and white lies. For reasons completely unrelated to their presence, two locals were at that very moment looking for a blonde Gnome with a scar across her left eye. Here she sat, now redheaded and unblemished, and with an owl perched on a shoulder that constantly wound its head around to check if anyone was staring at them for too long. Recognizing his compatriots, the Dwarf joined them.

The Gnomish woman leaned towards him and said, “It’s about time. I’ve got a posting here about a crocodile up the river that’s been making some locals uncomfortable. Seems it’s big, and it’s been coming closer to town recently.”

“How much?”

“Thirty gold.”

The Firbolg across from the Gnome said, “I’d rather not kill a creature that hasn’t done anything yet.” The low baritone was almost lost into his beard. His companions either did not hear or ignored him.

“Nyx, that won’t even get us halfway to the capital.”

“Well what did you find? It’s the best offer we’ve got.”

“I didn’ find any work, but I did speak with the dockmaster. Next ship she knows of is a month and a half out still, but there will probably be one or two surprise visits before then. If we’re lucky we’ll only be here a few days, a week at most. Maybe we can leave the same way we came. We ask the captain of the next ship that comes in if they need a few more hands, a bit of extra security. I mean, I know last time that didn’ go so-”

“We know what happened last time, Gilottor,” The armored Human said over him.

“Alrigh’ touchy, just saying ships’ve not been the best of luck for us lately. Still, working our passage might be our best bet.”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “I’d hate to waste what time we have here though. I put some of my coin to use asking where a company such as ours might find work while we’re otherwise idle, and after a bit of persuasion the town yeowoman suggested we do a bit of scouting. Apparently her little brother has taken to disappearing into the jungle for a day or two at a time, despite her warnings. She knows there’s an old ruin about seven miles East of town towards the mountains, and she fears that one of these days her brother’s going to get nabbed by the greenskins that are supposed to have taken up residence there. Or worse, they’ll get hungry and head towards town. Now, it hasn’t been enough to warrant an action from the guard, but she’d be ever so grateful if we were to look into it, so much so that she promised ten gold if we put her fears to rest.”

“How is that better than what I found?” the Gnomish woman asked, brow furrowed.

“Well, it’s a ruin, which means it might have some things of value we could find for ourselves along the way. But on top of that, she said that if her fears  _ are _ founded and there are greenskins so close to town then she would reward us with twenty-five gold a head.”

The fuzzy man to his right frowned in concern, and the Gnome to his left recoiled away from the table. The owl on her shoulder fluttered its wings for balance and gave her an annoyed hoot.

“Vatalyus’ flame!” Nyx said, “Could you find some bloodier work for us, perchance? Any babes need dismembering? Fuckin’ hells.”

“Oh come on, Nyx, you know as well as I do that if there’s greenskins out there they’ll run out of food sooner or later, and when they do they’ll come raiding.”

“This ain’t the Stepp, it’s a fuckin’ jungle. You don’t run out of food here, food runs out of you. You’re the food that other things are running out of!”

“If it’s a sizeable tribe they’ll be able to tame their territory easily enough, and then they will be another one of the already numerous things that are trying to eat the poor folk of Bunula.”

Gilottor leaned over the table and asked, “Dillon, if they’re a ‘sizeable tribe’ then what makes you think we can take them even if we wanted to?”

The Human named Dillon looked incredulous. “Have you never fought greenskins before? The big ones are strong and dumb and completely unorganized, and the small ones are weak and quick and badly organized. As Nyx pointed out, this isn’t the Stepp, there’s no open ground for them. As long as they can’t charge, the four of us in formation could take all the greenskins from here to the Misericadi mountains.”

“Gods you’re racist,” the Firbolg said.

“Oh, come on Delmirev, ad hominem? If you’ve got a better plan, feel free to share it.”

A moment of silence passed. Delmirev the Firbolg looked frustrated, Nyx the Gnome looked defeated, and Gilottor the Dwarf looked tired. Dillon the Human was smug, as always.

“Then we leave in the morning.”

  
  


**.** **.** **.**

_ Two weeks earlier. . . _

  
  


Warchief Segrokus stepped onto the crumbling stones of an unknown ruin. He climbed the wall where the roots of a tree had pried apart the stone, but from atop the twenty feet of ancient masonry he saw the rest of the temple was still mostly intact. The wall was thick, a thirty foot wide slab of unmortared stone that was more a terrace than a defensive structure. From what he could tell it was completely undefended. There were not even battlements to defend, and the wide gray surface was shot with cracks and rain-filled puddles. It made him feel more exposed than less and he made a note to fix that first.

Some two hundred feet distant, the other side of the temple was a mirror of where he stood, reflected along a line that ran from the marsh eighty feet left of him to a small palace a hundred feet to his right. Enclosed by the outer terrace was a wild garden, the palace at its head, with dry aqueducts running through it and a great tree in its center with gilded leaves. Flanking the palace at the temple’s corners were stone domes about fifty feet in diameter. At least, given how symmetrical everything was he assumed there was another stone dome in the corner beyond the palace but the trees of the garden and the palace itself blocked his view.

There was movement in the canopy above him, then two  _ twang _ s from his tribe below were followed by a large swan hitting the stone a few feet from him. It shrieked as it fell and suddenly there were waves of dancing light all around. He felt magic trying to affect his mind and did the only thing that seemed sensible; he brought his hammer down on the bird.

The light instantly ended.

“Pilwicken, any more of those?”

There was a beat of silence. Segrokus broke his slow scan of the crumbling temple to check the others. His lieutenant Shar and the squat goblin Pilwicken were the only other members of his tribe that had made it to the top with him, and they were both glassy-eyed and swaying. They must have been enchanted by the bird’s magic. Another six of his warriors were still climbing, and the thirty-odd remaining members of the Green Moss tribe were spread out among the trees below trying to keep their boots from soaking through. He saw uncertain glances after the strange magic light and raised a hand in reassurance. Then he smacked Shar and Pilwicken with his shield, hard enough to knock the magic out of them.

“See any more birds?”

From about his knee level he heard the goblin say, “Two on the trees growin’ off that big stone building. Might be more though, chief, I think they can disguise themselves.”

“You seen them before?”

“No, but I seen an elf cast a spell like that one before and he was a sly one. Want me to take one out?”

“If they can do magic it’s best to kill them. Can you get both?”

She shook her head.

He set his hammer down (the flat head ensured it would stand handle-up at his side) and pulled three javelins from a large quiver on his back. He handed one to Shar, one to the first Orc over the lip of the wall, and drew back the third himself. “Pil on the left one. Shar, Orgahr, we’re on the right.”

Taking just a moment to find the swan, he threw. His raiders did the same. The Goblin woman muttered a word and brandished a length of polished wood and a streak of blue lightning shot from the tip.

The one with the two javelins stuck in it fell a bit faster than the one with black smoke trailing from its feathers. Shar grunted.

“Shut the fuck up, Shar.”

“I mean, that wasn’ even the same tree-”

“Who’s the one got enchanted by a bird, eh?”

When the smaller Orc did not respond he continued. “We’re taking this for our new stronghold. Bring the rest up. Be on guard, there’s bound to be more dangerous things in here than magic birds. Have Marigold join us once everyone is secured.” He waited long enough to make sure his instructions were being carried out before leading Shar, four of his raiders, and Pilwicken deeper into the ruins.

The bronze doors of the buildings had turned green with age and a set of them stood open twenty feet off their path, revealing darkness inside the palace. He saw nothing inside, and Pilwicken did not either or she would have said something. He passed that option and headed for the dome first. Stone stairs led up to its bronze doors, which were closed.

“Pil,” he said.

She set about looking the doors up and down, tracing her hands along the frame, and doing other obscure things he did not care to understand. After an impatient minute she said, “It’s safe and I can’t find a lock.”

He pulled the door open. Inside a single ray of light from a hole in the ceiling illuminated slofly falling motes of dust. Mostly empty bookshelves and weapon racks stood opposite the door behind a rotting pile of wood that had presumably been a table or desk at some point. A life-size onyx statue of an armored elf with a shortsword and a large, rectangular shield stood to the right and a second doorway punctured the wall to the left. Entering carefully, Segrokus discovered that the other door led down a set of stairs into a long pool of crystal clear water. The back of the palace ran along one side, a narrow wall ran along the other to separate pool from jungle, and at the opposite end was a similar stone dome that had collapsed.

Shar was already inspecting the weapon rack when Segrokus stopped scanning for enemies. He bit back his annoyance and instead asked, “Anything good?”

“Four shortswords, two spears, a- oops, make that one spear and a spearhead. . . a nice helmet. It’s all rusted but I’m sure Wennog can salvage it. Be nice if we found a forge in this place.”

Just then a large bear climbed up the steps where they had come. Her fur was brown and prickly, but the muzzle and back were clearly turning gray with age.

“Good, you’re here. Is everyone out of the swamp?”

She made a grunting noise that he knew from experience meant ‘yeah, but we’re out in the open and we should hurry up.’ She was very expressive, for a bear.

“We’re taking the palace next. If there’s anyone in this ruin, that’s where they’ll be. Take what weapons you can use and get the shoats and Wennog in here until we get back.”

As they were leaving he heard Pilwicken ask the bear, “How’s the shoulder?”

Marigold huffed, which meant, “Painful. Let’s go.”

Out on the terrace the tribe had assembled. Marigold was right, they looked dangerously exposed. He waved the young ones up to the dome, Orcs and Goblins alike. He left the weaponmaster to sort through the salvage as well as two of his raiders and two Goblin archers to guard them. The rest made a sloppy formation behind him, with no thought put into who would be best in front and who would be best further back. He sighed in frustration but did not bother correcting them. If anything was here they would have defended themselves or fled by now. It was just a matter of securing the rest of the temple and figuring out where everyone was going to sleep.

The Green Moss tribe had a new home.

Segrokus was first through the open bronze doors of the palace, flanked as always by Shar and Pilwicken. Marigold was just behind, and then the rest. Inside was a large floor with stairs rising to the left. The right wall opened to a patio that overlooked the pool he had seen earlier and at the far end of the hall was a set of doors similar to the ones he had just entered. The ceiling was low but the center of the hall was studded with a twenty foot by thirty foot rectangle of interlinked, arching supports. As he advanced he saw that the arches pierced the second floor and left the center area of the hall quite open all the way to the roof thirty-five feet up.

It was as he checked the balcony above to make sure there was not an ambush waiting for them that Segrokus saw it. At the apex of the central dome, upside down, was an eight-legged monster with the torso of a man where its eight eyes would be, and he was waving a staff at them. A white net fell from above and he felt an odd radiance of heat from behind him.

“Got a foe!” he shouted as he threw his shield over his head. He felt a thick, sticky web fall on him. With a quick motion he drew a handaxe from his belt to rend it before he could get caught. Free of the trap, he hefted his warhammer. Next to him, Pilwicken was not as quick, and he heard her chanting in Goblin, “Oh, I’m going to shred your web and strangle you with it!” It rhymed in Goblin.

Shar had cut the web on his battleaxe as it came down, but Segrokus heard shouts of surprise as the Orcs and Goblins behind him were suddenly stuck in the gooey net. Not only would they waste time trying to free themselves, but he was sure they would block the entrance and prevent the rest of the warriors from getting into the fight. His blood started to boil at the thought of his warband brought low by a giant fucking spider and the red rage overtook him. He had to get higher, closer to the damn spider monster, so he spun and raced for the stairs.

That’s when he saw the guardian. In the midst of his tribe stood a hulking, transparent spirit weilding a sword and a rectangular shield. Its legs actually passed through Ufor and Marigold. He hoped that meant it was just an illusion, but that hope was short lived. As he ran through the restrained ranks of his tribe the guardian seemed to notice him and swung its sword. He threw up his shield as a reflex but the spectral weapon passed right through it and he felt his body sear and shred down his shoulder and into his chest. He knew that any wound he could feel through the red rage was a grievous one, but he did not slow. He took the stairs four at a time and almost collided with another spider, this one about the size of a hound and normal-shaped. Frustrated that his path was blocked he brought his warhammer down on the creature. Two of its legs crumpled but it tried to sink its fangs into his arm and he had to shove it away with his shield.

The stairs were wide and a moment later he felt Shar beside him. The Orc brought his battleaxe down at the same spider, missing its center but lopping off another couple of legs. The remaining appendages curled in on themselves and twitched.

There was a tremendous roar as Marigold announced her displeasure. The  _ twangs _ of bows sung behind him. Another spider climbed weightlessly down the wall from the floor above and lunged for him but he caught it with the head of his hammer and crushed it with a  _ splat _ on the stairs. Their path clear, he and Shar rushed up to the second level and over to the center of the hall.

The spider-centaur was firing arrows from a longbow down at those below and it caught sight of them, still about fifteen feet up out of their reach. In common it shouted, “Leave us or die, Orcs!”

He put a pillar between himself and it, then looked at Shar who had done the same a few feet off. The raider knelt down and put his hands together to create a step before pretending to lift. The warchief nodded, slung his warhammer over his back, and called out, “Pil! Going to need some of your magic!”

“You make sure you leave enough of that spider for me to mount on a wall!”

At her words he felt power flow through him. He sprang around the pillar and put one foot in Shar’s cupped hands. He lost his balance as he pushed off and Shar flung him at the same time, but either Shar’s strength or Pil’s magic or both kept him arcing through the air towards the spider-centaur. He had a brief moment to notice it was casting another spell of some sort before he was sailing past just underneath it. With one chance he grabbed the upside-down monster by an armpit. His fingers slid over skin and muscle before he caught its wrist with one hand and held fast, dangling. It screamed and kept its unnatural spider grip on the ceiling despite his added weight.

A javelin flew passed, missing them both. Three arrows from below found purchase in the monster and it shrieked an unworldly sound of pain. Still it held its grip on the stone arch above. Looking up at it, Segrokus saw it grit its teeth in determination. In the hand he was not holding on to he saw a shard of shadow solidify into a knife. Quicker than anything he had encountered before, the spider-centaur sliced at his arm. Once. Twice. Thrice. It left no wounds, but each cut felt like his head was being cut open and inspected. He sensed his strength start to fail.

Segrokus was about to draw a weapon with his free hand and strike, and it seemed the monster was intent on continuing to ravage his mind with its blade of darkness, but before either of them could he heard Pilwicken’s voice singing an enchantment. Heeding her siren call, the spider-centaur went suddenly still and then they were both falling. He recognized the effect of the goblin’s binding spell. With only a moment to react he swung the magically paralyzed spider down so that it would break his fall and they crashed into the ground. His body protested as bones snapped like twigs and joints were wrenched apart, and then darkness took him.


	2. Warchief

The easiest way to the ruins was by boat, so they procured a rowboat. Dillon’s yeowoman gave them the directions they needed to find it.

Getting into the boat was an interesting challenge. It could seat six and there were only four of them, but Delmirev had never been in such a small boat before. And he was humongous. The ship they had arrived on had been an oceangoing vessel, large enough that it was not so much different from land. It swayed back and forth, yeah, but it did not tip when you stepped onto it. Trying to get four hundred pounds into a rowboat when said four hundred pounds did not understand that he could very easily flip the boat over and dump its occupants into crocodile-infested waters was. . . well, it was certainly a learning experience for the would-be adventurers. Very brave souls indeed.

By midday they had managed to reach their first landmark; a ‘village’ consisting of two buildings on stilts. They were told they could stop there to barter for food and supplies with the half-trolls who lived there if needed. Saying that he wanted to make up for lost time, Dillon suggested they press on and eat some of the rations they had brought instead.

By dusk they were lost. Dillon had been sure they had followed their directions to the letter, and Delmirev was certain he had seen stone walls just a little ways into the swamp. When Nyx finally sent her owl Tana into the trees to circle around them for the nearest solid ground night was falling and the sounds of nature around them started feeling more ominous.

As Delmirev rowed, Nyx relayed them what her owl was seeing. “He found it. Delmirev was right, it’s back that way. There’s definitely things living there. The stonework is ancient but it has wooden ramparts around the edges that look new. It’s-”

“Hoarding.”

“. . . What?”

“The new wooden structure around the edge? That’s called the hoarding, not ramparts.”

Gilottor watched as a vein in Nyx’s temple throb, but somehow she continued as if she had not been interrupted. “It is mostly a huge garden, but there’s a big building at the back that’s lit up from the inside. There’s a smaller dome as well, and, yeah, of course they’ve got patrols- Hey!”

“What, what happened?”

“One of the sentires tried to shoot Tana! I’m gunna kill that fucker first!”

“Shhhh!” Gilottor scolded, keeping an eye on their surroundings.

“Sorry. . .”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. It’ll take more than that to get him, but fuck that one.”

"How far away are we?”

“Less than a mile. . . that way. We doing this tonight or should we wait for morning?”

Everyone looked to Dillon.

“Tomorrow. We need a good night’s rest and a solid plan if we’re going to do this. Maybe we can lure some away and not take them all on at once. I’ll think on it. Where’s the nearest dry land?”

Nyx pointed away from where the sun had just set and said, “The ground gets firm over there.”

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

A fortnight after they took the temple, Carlin Pilwicken found herself on patrol duty. She had brought down a spider-centaur from its lofty perch. She had saved the chief's life with a quick healing spell. She had kept all their spirits up on the long and dangerous journey across the Stepp, through the western edge of the Darkwood, and into this jungle in the shadow of the Misericadi Mountains. And what did she get for it all? Patrol duty. She hated patrol duty. She could not even play her panflute. She had to be _quiet._ Psh.

Overhead, a bird flew. It was kind of big. It certainly was no hummingbird. Remembering the magic swans they had fought the first day here she nocked an arrow and drew back her shortbow. It missed and the bird flew off.

She was not very good with a bow.

The days since their arrival had been busy. The wood of the jungle trees around them had proved good for building. The first task had been walling off the western side of the temple, where the gardens spilled out into the swamp with only a short stone breakwall between them. It was the only part of their temple that lacked a strong stone wall. The marsh was a good deterrent, but a strong wooden wall and a gate was needed.

There had been a small setback the day before when their need for wood for the gate led them to the great oak tree with shiny bronze leaves. As they approached it at the center of the garden with axes it leaned over and crushed the nearest orc. Marigold had appeared then and made it clear with her growling that they were not to touch that tree. Even without the angry bear, the tree was pretty convincing.

They had ringed the top of the terrace walls with sharpened branches so it would be more difficult to just climb in the way they had. Four watchtowers had been built, two on the western corners to watch the swamps and two on the eastern corners to watch the jungle and the foothills of the mountains. The tallest of the towers was built right on top of the dome’s roof, which they patched and reinforced so it leaked less. That was where the other Goblins got to stay, but she got her own room in the palace because she could magic.

The main hall was where the surviving Orcs stayed. The open area in the middle had been left that way, but the rest was divided up with wooden walls into rooms between fifteen and twenty feet wide. Because they had lost four raiders in the fight against the spider-centaur there were not enough orcs to fill the hall. A spot under the northern staircase was left unwanted so she had walled it up and claimed it. It was more space than she had ever had to herself and she loved it.

Almost all of the second floor was for Segrokus and his consort Cint. Pilwicken had seen it when they finished exploring the ruins after the battle. It was all stone walls dividing up the rooms with long-rotted tapestries on them, and metal doors that could open and shut, gone green with age. The spider-centaur had kept its shinies in one of those rooms and she had just barely been able to nick two shiny stones without Shar catching her. When Marigold finished tending to Segrokus he had been brought up there to rest for a few days. The one room up there that he had given away was for Shar at the top of the stairs (almost directly above her room) because he was the second largest.

Now the main problem was keeping the ruins. Marigold could cleanse any water (the water in the pool next to the palace was prefered over swamp water). The gardens held many fruit-bearing plants to forage and they could hunt as much as they wanted. No, they had learned the hard way in Darkwood that the main danger they faced was the ‘civilized’ races. The Drox in Darkwood had not taken kindly to a host of Orcs and Goblins looking for a home in their lands.  That was what had driven them North to warmer, wilder, and hopefully less populated lands.

That was why she walked back and forth across the wall, her fingers idly playing with the necklace of sharp teeth around her neck. They were new to this part of the world and they did not know who their neighbors would be or if they would be paying a visit soon. The tribe’s hunting parties had thus far encountered; a snake that could change the color of its skin (which they killed), a wild boar (which they killed), a huge flower that tried to eat them (which they killed), a water hag (which they fought and killed, although Strongbones was cursed and a wolf rider she did not know died), two wild trolls (that they avoided), and a small encampment of half-trolls (that they avoided). The half-trolls were the most ‘civilized' of the lot, and that was not saying much.

Still, a human or elven mage nearby with the right spells could have seen them take the ruined temple that they now called home. If not, it was only a matter of time. Any large settlements that found them would send an overwhelming force to clear them out. It pissed her off that they had to always be ready for an attack, and if she was boss she would have already sent people out to tell whoever else in the jungle that her tribe would promise not to attack if they would do the same. Segrokus was too ambitious to keep such a promise. Not that the idea was likely to come to him.

When the moon set a few hours later Carlin decided her watch was over. She went into the dome that the other goblins all shared, kicked one of them awake to take the next watch, and went to sleep.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

Segrokus woke early that day, an hour before dawn. There was always something to do as warchief of the Green Moss tribe. Before he had fought his brother he assumed it was all glorious battles, great feasts, and attractive consorts. After that, during their months of wandering with no territory of their own, it had been figuring out which way to go that would have enough food for them to not starve and also be far enough away from the human and elven cities to not be hunted down. Now that they had found a territory he had to enforce his claim.

Building fortifications, arming his few warriors, and learning about the surrounding area were vital. If the tribe was going to grow they needed to conquer and subjugate any small settlements nearby. With only ten Orcs remaining in the tribe, and three of them children, growing quickly was the only way to keep from being wiped out in the coming months. Of the nineteen goblins, five were too young to fight and the rest were almost as useless. Only Pilwicken and her magic were of much help in a raid. Then there was Marigold; formidable in battle and essential afterwards but growing older by the day.

With all of the things that needed to be done, he was annoyed that his efforts were being stalled by a tree. The construction of defenses and weapons required wood, and he had instructed that the trees growing out of the stonework and slowly prying the temple apart were to be cut first. With only seven adult orcs and five axes between them it was slow going. When that was done the trees nearest the walls were selected so an attacker could not use them as cover.

Only then did they start on the eight or so trees that had grown up out of the garden area in the center of the temple. Apparently, the large oak with bronze colored leaves that glinted like metal in the sunlight had an opinion on this, because when Orgahr approached with his axe it had leaned over and swatted him into a bloody pulp like he would a fly. A battle cry was raised and the tribe converged on the gardens, but then Marigold had planted herself in front of the tree and roared at anyone who came near. That had been the previous day while he was out hunting and now he had to actually deal with it.

Now Segrokus had to figure out what was going on, and he did not like it. Building was difficult but manageable. Working with Wennog to arm his warriors was tedious, but it brought a visceral satisfaction in seeing his forces become more deadly. Battle was something he looked forward to. But trees that smashed you and irritable druids were aspects of leadership he had little experience with.

“Marigold.”

She lay curled at the base of the bronze-leafed tree.

“Marigold!”

An ear twitched and turned towards him like a dog’s, but she did not open her eyes.

He was acutely aware that this woman was the one who had set half a dozen of his bones and healed them with her magic after the encounter with the spider-centaur, and that she would likely be the one to keep him from dying in any future battles. And she did not like to leave her bear form. And she was not a morning person. Still, he was warchief for a reason.

“We need to talk about this tree. Join me.”

Marigold turned her head towards him, loosed a single, angry roar, and rose to her feet. A couple of the sentries turned to see what was happening. From anyone else, that challenge would have meant the death of one of them.

Instead, the bear in front of him shrank to the shape of a fat Hobb. She had mostly Goblin features but her nose was more bulbous than pointed and her skin was a dark orange, notably different from the yellows and light greens of most Goblins. She wore armor made of overlapping folds of leather trimmed with vibrant jade stones that was both more functional and far more intricate than any Goblin work ever crafted. She wielded a spear in one hand and a jade-studded shield in the other, and she said, “Warchief.”

Segrokus never knew how to handle Marigold. She joined them two months prior in Darkwood. They stumbled onto a mighty bear and a fight broke out, but after a mew minutes it turned into a Hobb woman and offered to join their warband. He had never heard of a Hobb druid before. When she was a bear (which was whenever she was not casting spells) she lived and acted like a bear, only stopping short of eating other members of the tribe. When she was a Hobb she was disciplined and militaristic just like Hobbs are famous for. Despite her impressive equipment they had found her alone with no sign of a legion or any other Hobbs around.

“How did the tree kill Orgahr?”

“It smashed him with a branch.”

“Yes, I know that. How can it move?”

“It’s not an ordinary tree.”

His temper started to rise. “What isn’t ordinary about it, aside from it can smash with its branches?”

She looked up at the canopy above her.

“This is a dragon tree. You can tell by its leaves.”

“Okay. What does the dragon tree want?”

“To live.”

“If we cut down other trees, will it attack?”

“No. Just don’t get too close with an axe.”

“Understood. I’ll tell the tribe not to cut it down.” He switched from Orcish to Goblin because there are no words for thanks-giving in his language. “Thank you for your wisdom.” That last bit almost did not make it across his tongue, but she was a Hobb and a druid and it felt appropriate.

She smiled at him, showing pointed, Goblin-like teeth. “Is that all, Warchief?” When he nodded she turned back into a bear and curled up at the base of the dragon tree.

Segrokus stood there for only a moment longer. Alright. The difficult part was over. Now all he had to do was start on a gate for the western palisade, where the garden met the marsh. He woke Shar, Cint, and Strongbones and they began chopping down the last two trees in the garden aside from the dragon tree.

They felled them and cut the timber to length quickly, and they were just beginning to lash it together to form the gate when he heard Marigold growl. He looked over, thinking one of his raiders was approaching the dragon tree again, but there was no one near it but her. Instead, she seemed to be looking towards the marsh. That was when he heard the tell-tale clinking of chain links.

The twenty-foot gap in the palisade where the gate would go was a cloud of thick white fog. A moment later the dim morning light illuminated four figures emerging from it. One was a massive, hairy wild-man even taller than Segrokus himself. One was a human man clad in chainmail and with a big fucking sword in his hands. One was a Dwarf with a thick beard holding a warhammer. The last was feminine and around the height of a Goblin, with a thin blade in her hand and a bow on her back.

Much too late, he heard one of the Goblin sentries in a watchtower screech, “Intruders! Foes! Ahhh!” Arrows started raining on the four of them.

He would kill those lazy bastards when this was over. The red rage coloring his vision, Segrokus picked up his shield where he had set it while working, drew his own warhammer from his back, and charged. He covered the distance quickly and brought a mighty swing down at the nearest enemy, the one with the greatsword. The human quickly stepped to the side and his hammer hit dirt at his feet.

The smallest of the enemies whipped her thin blade towards Segrokus’s neck. He went to block it with his shield but it slid across the edge of his shield and nicked his arm, and in that moment she snuck in with her offhand and stabbed him in the gut.

The big man came around his other side and the Warchief realized even through the red rage that he had overextended. His warriors had reacted slower than he did, still quite a ways behind him. For the moment he faced the intruders alone. As the gray half-giant reached forward towards him and cast something the white sheet of fog behind him lost cohesion and started to disperse in the wind. Then he swung his gnarled staff and smacked Segrokus in the head.

The Dwarf positioned himself just out of reach and without warning exhaled what looked like a bolt of lightning. Segrokus was unaffected but he heard shouts of pain from those behind him. The Human he had swung at made his move in response. With both hands the Human cut at him from the side. His shield was still occupied with the short one so he instead raised an arm. The sword cut through his skin and muscle and bit bone.

Then his warriors were there. Marigold reached the fray first, barreling in from his left and biting the big gray one in the arm before swiping her claws across his face. He shouted in pain. Shar appeared at his right and swung a two-handed blow down at the Dwarf’s head but the bastard raised his hand and Shar’s axe bounced off some sort of magic. Cint swung at his side and crashed off the same protective magic.

Segrokus swung at the small one. As he drew his hammer back she stabbed him two more times, but he caught her in the side with a sold blow. He expected her to fall but she kept on her feet with gritted teeth.

The Dwarf had not yet ceased his belch of lightning and it continued to spew forth in new directions as he turned his head, but in addition to that he reach out and grabbed Shar with two hands that crackled with the same blue-white energy. The bolt from his mouth hit Segrokus but he barely felt it as he saw Shar spasm from the magic and fall backwards, limp.

The gray one’s club crashed into the side of Segrokus’s head and he almost lost consciousness, but just as darkness closed in on him he felt healing magic course through him. Marigold stood next to him in Hobb form, her hand on his shoulder for a moment to cast her spell. Reinvigorated, he swung at the Dwarf that had in all likelihood just killed Shar. Again he raised a hand to deflect the attack with a protective spell.

The small one shifted her attention to Marigold, two quick stabs around her shield. The Dwarf stepped onto Shar’s body and faced Segrokus, completely ignoring Cint who had not yet been able to find purchase with her greataxe. The Warchief felt the lightning hit him fully and shoot through and around him to Marigold. She was old and rather frail in her hobb form but somehow she pushed through the pain without passing out. She turned to the Human and cast a spell and his chainmail started glowing red-hot, then she rapidly grew into a mangy, grey bear.

The Human screamed pitifully and fell to the ground. From the walls above the Goblins could be heard laughing. More arrows fell around them and one actually caught the small woman’s leg, but most of them either missed or were deflected as they neared the Dwarf.

Of the three remaining, the big gray one looked easiest to hit so Segrokus drove the flat head of his hammer into the wild-man’s chest. It connected and he felt bones break, but then he vanished. There was a swirl in the remaining fog as something invisible stepped away from them and was gone.

The short woman looked down at the Human who was giving off a horrid smell in his red-hot armor, then at the Dwarf who continued to breath lightning but had an Orc on either side. She gave one last thrust with her swift blade that ran straight through his leg before carefully backing away and jumping into the rowboat that Segrokus only just then noticed.

The Dwarf either did not notice that he was the last combatant remaining or he did not care. He continued to breath a continuous stream of lightning from his mouth, and with feral hands he grabbed at Segrokus. Another jolt shot through him as the crazed little bastard caught his arm. He started to feel his own flesh sear from within the way the dead Human’s did from without.

Marigold pounced on the stormcloud shaped like a Dwarf and brought him to the ground. She tore into his shoulder with her teeth and clawed at his chest until his lightning finally ended.

Turning to the boat that was only ten feet from the edge of the garden he saw the tiny woman who seemed to be casting a spell and the big gray one rowing away. Then he saw the woman again, standing on the water some twenty feet further out.

“Shoot them!” Segrokus ordered. When only one arrow splashed into the water he looked up at the walls and saw the Goblin sentries being harried by an owl. The rush of the red rage had been starting to slip away but it was renewed again by their continued incompetence. He threw his shield aside and picked up a blackened spear that at some point had been impaled through the body of the cooking human. It was scalding hot but he reared back and launched it at the retreating boat. It splashed into the water ten feet past the bow with a _hisss._

Furious, he rushed over to the wall. He scaled it in two quick leaps. As he landed the owl flew off, but he no longer cared about the intruders. With both hands he raised his warhammer and flattened the first worthless Goblin in reach. As the rest tried to run past him but he caught another around the neck and ripped it in two.

As his rage ended he roared in anger and exhaustion and pain. Looking down at the Green Moss tribe, which had all assembled by then, he leapt back down to the garden. He landed hard and his right leg gave out. He knew as Warchief that was no position to be in. Segrokus started to push himself back up to his feet, but then Pilwicken was there before him. He was too dazed to notice the sword she held at her side until it was level with his heart. It pushed between his ribs and the last thing he heard was her mocking words.

“You were the stupidest Warchief I ever seen.”

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

Only two hours had passed between when Carlin Pilwicken went to sleep and when she woke to the sounds of battle. She had slept in her armor like most of her kind so she only needed to buckle her sword belt on as she dashed towards the fight.

Emerging onto the terrace above the garden, she saw down by where the marsh met the garden there was a Dwarf breathing lightning, and a body that glowed red hot, and Segrokus and Marigold hammering and biting and slashing away. Other Goblins who had been alerted were streaming out of their dome. She started the long run down the stairs and across the garden.

By the time she got close enough to help it was over. She heard Segrokus shout, “Shoot them!” He was bloody and ragged, with odd spiderwebs of raised skin that shot up his arms and neck. She had seen similar marks on creatures that she killed with her wand, they must have been from the Dwarf’s magic lightning. He was looking out towards the swamp, then he turned towards the southwest watchtower. The Goblins there were being harassed by an owl and were swatting at it instead of firing at the escaping enemies.

Segrokus picked up a spear and threw it wildly. It missed by a lot. In his rage he ran over to the southwest tower, climbed it, and killed two Goblins there.

Appalled, she looked around to see Shar dead, as well as Strongbones. That left only Cint, Wennog, and Gnarsh as the only adult orcs in the tribe, besides the Warchief. The sixteen surviving Goblins of the tribe had already gathered along the walls above them, along with the children of both races. The ones closest to Segrokus scattered away lest they be next.

Carlin Pilwicken knew this was a critical moment. She pulled a copper coin from a pocket and closed her eyes and said, “Know.” She felt a weightlessness as the spell took affect. Quickly she cast her mind out to brush against Cint’s and found her troubled and uneasy at the outburst. Carlin made her decision then. With another word and another spell, she healed the Dwarf just enough to keep him alive for a few more minutes.

By then Segrokus’s carnage was over and he jumped back down to the garden. Like many other things in his life, he misjudged the drop. The warchief fell to a knee as he landed. Carlin rushed over, a hand outstretched as if to help him up. The ruse was unnecessary. He did not even notice her until she was right in front of him. She angled her sword up towards the Orc’s chest and before he could react she ran it through his heart. Then she layered magic into her words as she said, “You were the stupidest Warchief I ever seen.” He twitched for a moment and fell to the ground.

Marigold roared in anger and lurched towards them. The three surviving Orcs made similar motions. She turned to them and raised her wand. With her mind still loosened she directed it to the bear this time. She sensed Marigold was angry because she had just spent a lot of magic keeping the Warchief alive and now she had killed him.

Thinking fast, Carlin Pilwicken raised her wand at the Orcs and Marigold and shouted, “Stop! Segrokus was a shit Warchief and he just let the intruders get away in his rage! He was stupid and greedy and cruel and if he lived we would all be dead in a month! I am Warchief now!”

Either her words or the wand in her hand got Marigold to stop. There was a moment of shock as her declaration settled over the ruins, then the Goblins on the walls erupted in cheers.

Over the din Wennog called out, “I will not serve a fucking Goblin!”

There was a momentary twinge of fear as the Orc weaponmaster charged, but Carlin held her ground. Again layering her words with pain she said, “Kill the foolish one!”

The Goblins above had not been ready for the order and they scrambled to obey. Of the eleven wielding bows, eight were fast enough and six found their mark. Wennog slid to a stop a scant few feet from where the new Warchief stood, dead. Looking at the remaining two Orcs and Marigold, and still brandishing her wand just in case, Carlin said, “Now, Marigold, Cint, Gnarsh, if you stay you get a hundred golds each, and an upstairs room. If you want leave, we don’t kill you, but you don’t survive very long out there alone.” The orcs looked at each other before turning back to her and shrugging. Marigold had been snarling, with the graying fur on her shoulders all on ends, but after a tense moment she snorted once and let her fur fall flat.

“Good! Now, we will do things different in Green Moss tribe. No more conquest, that will only get us all killed. We build up this place, we defend it, we hunt and forage and will have plenty of food! But most importantly,” she said as she approached the fallen Dwarf, “We don’t kill the Humans and Dwarves and Elves no more! There are always more of them, if we kill them they will come back with more and kill us!”

This decree was met with silence, so she continued, “In return, Goblins who stay get ten silvers and the whole downstairs of the palace!”

That was met with the biggest cheer of all.

**Author's Note:**

> This story references a few geographic regions. If you'd like to get a sense of the world it takes place in, here is a map. The Stepp is the area of large, flat plains that make up most of the Eastern continent, and everything else mentioned in this story takes place North of that.


End file.
